



BY JOSEPH ADDISON 
and RICHARD STEELE 



Sir Roger de Coverley 
Papers 

by 

Joseph Addison 

and 
Richard Steele 



Done into a Brochure 

by The Roycrofters, at their Print Shop, 

which i3 in East Aurora, 

Erie County, New York State 



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COPYKIGBT 1017 

By 
The Rotceoftehb 



"■■■-"••"rT F,o»t 



JAN -2 IS 18 



STEELE INTRODUCES SIR 
ROGER DE COVERLEY* 

(jJteHE first of our society is a gentleman of 
■ li Worcestershire, of an ancient descent, a 
^^^ baronet. His name Sir Roger de Coverley. 
His great-grandfather was inventor of that 
famous country dance which is called after him. All 
who know that shire are very well acquainted with 
the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman 
that is very singular in his behavior, but his singu- 
larities proceed from his good sense, and are con- 
tradictions to the manners of the world, only as he 
thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this 
humor creates him no enemies, for he does nothing 
with sourness or obstinacy; and his being uncon- 
fined to modes and forms makes him but the readier 
and more capable to please and oblige all who know 
him. When he is in town he lives in Soho Square. It 
is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was 
crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the 
next county to him. Before this disappointment Sir 
Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often 
supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George 
Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to 

*The character of Sir Roger de Coverley, introduced by Steele 
in the second number of the Spectator, was at once appropri- 
ated by Addison. The essay by Steele is given here to make 
those which follow from Addison more intelligible in their 
connection with it. 

— 3 — 



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town, and kicked bully Dawson in a public coffee- 
house for calling him youngster. But being ill-used 
by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious 
for a year and a half; and though, his temper being 
naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew 
careless of himself, and never dressed afterwards. 
He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same 
cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, 
which, in his merry humors, he tells us has been in 
and out twelve times since he first wore it. It is said 
Sir Roger grew humble in his desires after he had 
forgot his cruel beauty, insomuch that it is reported 
he has frequently offended in point of chastity with 
beggars and gipsies; but this is looked upon by his 
friends rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is 
now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; 
keeps a good house both in town and country; a 
great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful 
cast in his behavior that he is rather beloved than 
esteemed. His tenants grow rich, his servants look 
satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, 
and the young men are glad of his company. When 
he comes into a house he calls the servants by their 
names and talks all the way up stairs to a visit. I 
must not omit that Sir Roger is a justice of the 
quorum; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session 
with great abilities, and three months ago gained 
universal applause by explaining a passage in the 
Game Act. 

The gentleman next in esteem and authority among 
us is another bachelor, who is a member of the 
Inner Temple, a man of great probity, wit, and 
understanding; but he has chosen his place of resi- 
— 4 — 



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dence rather to obey the direction of an old humor- 
some father, than in pursuit of his own inclinations. 
He was placed there to study the laws of the land, 
and is the most learned of any of the house in those 
of the stage. Aristotle and Longinus are much better 
understood by him than Littleton or Coke. The 
father sends up every post questions relating to 
marriage articles, leases, and tenures, in the neigh- 
borhood; all which questions he agrees with an 
attorney to answer and take care of in the lump. 
He is studying the passions themselves when he 
should be inquiring into the debates among men 
which arise from them. He knows the argument of 
each of the orations of Demosthenes and TuUy, but 
not one case in the reports of our own courts. No 
one ever took him for a fool; but none, except his 
intimate friends, know he has a great deal of wit. 
This tm-n makes him at once both disinterested and 
agreeable. As few of his thoughts are drawn from 
business, they are most of them fit for conversation. 
His taste for books is a little too just for the age he 
lives in; he has read all, but approves of very few. 
His familiarity with the customs, manners, actions, 
and writings of the Ancients makes him a very 
delicate observer of what occurs to him in the 
present world. He is an excellent critic, and the time 
of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he 
passes through New-Inn, crosses through Russel- 
court, and takes a turn at Will's till the play begins; 
he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered 
at the barber's as you go into the Rose. It is for the 
good of the audience when he is at a play, for the 
actors have an ambition to please him. 
— 5 — 



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The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew 
Freeport, a merchant of great eminence in the city 
of London; a person of indefatigable industry, 
strong reason, and great experience. His notions of 
trade are noble and generous, and (as every rich 
man has usually some sly way of jesting, which 
would make no great figure were he not a rich man) 
he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted 
with commerce in all its parts, and will tell you that 
it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion 
by arms; for true power is to be got by arts and 
industry. He will often argue, that if this part of our 
trade were well cultivated, we should gain from one 
nation; and if another, from another I have heard 
him prove, that diligence makes more lasting 
acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined 
more nations than the sword. He abounds in several 
frugal maxims, amongst which the greatest favorite 
is, "A penny saved is a penny got." A general trader 
of good sense is pleasanter company than a general 
scholar; and Sir Andrew having a natural unaffected 
eloquence, the perspicuity of his discourse gives the 
same pleasure that wit would in another man. He 
has made his fortune himself; and says that England 
may be richer than other kingdoms, by as plain 
methods as he himself is richer than other men; 
though at the same time I can say this of him that 
there is not a point in the compass but blows home 
a ship in which he is an owner. 
Next to Sir Andrew in the clubroom sits Captain 
Sentry, a gentleman of great courage, good under- 
standing, but invincible modesty. He is one of those 
that deserve very well, but are very awkward at 
— 6 — 



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putting their talents within the observation of such 
as should take notice of them. He was some years a 
captain, and behaved himself with great gallantry 
in several engagements, and at several sieges; but 
having a small estate of his own, and being next 
heir to Sir Roger, he has quitted a way of life in 
which no man can rise suitably to his merit, who is 
not something of a courtier as well as a soldier. I 
have heard him often lament that in a profession 
where merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, 
impudence should get the better of modesty. When 
he has talked to this purpose, I never heard him 
make a sour expression, but frankly confess that he 
left the world, because he was not fit for it. A strict 
honesty and an even regular behavior are in them- 
selves obstacles to him that must press through 
crowds, who endeavor at the same end with himself, 
the favor of a commander. He will however in his 
way of talk excuse generals for not disposing 
according to men's desert, or inquiring into it; for, 
says he, that great man who has a mind to help me 
has as many to break through to come at me as I 
have to come at him : therefore he will conclude, that 
the man who would make a figure, especially in a 
military way, must get over all false modesty, and 
assist his patron against the importimity of other 
pretenders, by a proper assurance in his own vindi- 
cation. He says it is a civil cowardice to be backward 
in assertmg what you ought to expect, as it is a 
military fear to be slow in attacking when it is your 
duty. With this candor does the gentleman speak 
of himself and others. The same frankness runs 
through all his conversation. The military part of his 
— 7 — 



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life has furnished him with many adventures, in the 
relation of which he is very agreeable to the company ; 
for he is never overbearing, though accustomed to 
command men in the utmost degree below him; nor 
ever too obsequious, from a habit of obeying men 
highly above him. 

But that our society may not appear a set of humor- 
ists, unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures 
of the age, we have amongst us the gallant Will 
Honeycomb, a gentleman who, according to his 
years, should be in the decline of his life, but having 
ever been very careful of his person, and always 
having had a very easy fortune, time has made but 
a very little impression, either by wrinkles on his 
forehead, or traces on his brain. His person is well 
turned and of a good height. He is very ready at 
that sort of discourse with which men usually 
entertain women. He has all his life dressed very 
well, and remembers habits as others do men. He 
can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. 
He knows the history of every mode, and can inform 
you from which of the French king's wenches our 
wives and daughters had this manner of curling 
their hair, that way of placing their hoods, whose 
frailty was covered by such a sort of petticoat, and 
whose vanity to show her foot made that part of 
the dress so short in such a year. In a word, all his 
conversation and knowledge has been in the female 
world. As other men of his age will take notice to 
you what such a minister said upon such and such an 
occasion, he will tell you when the Duke of Mon- 
mouth danced at court such a woman was then 
smitten, another was taken with him at the head of 
— 8 — 



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his troop in the Park. In all these important rela- 
tions, he has ever about the same time received a 
kind glance, or a blow of a fan from some celebrated 
beauty, mother of the present Lord Such-a-one. If 
you speak of a young commoner, that said a lively 
thing in the house, he starts up, " He has good blood 
in his vein; Tom Mirable begot him; the rogue 
cheated me in that affair; that young fellow's 
mother used me more like a dog than any woman I 
ever made advances to." This way of talking of his 
very much enlivens the conversation among us of a 
more sedate turn, and I find there is not one of the 
company, but myself, who rarely speak at all, but 
speaks of him as of that sort of man, who is usually 
called a well-bred fine gentleman. To conclude his 
character, where women are not concerned, he is an 
honest worthy man. 

I can not tell whether I am to account him, whom I 
am next to speak of, as one of our company; for he 
visits us but seldom: but when he does, it adds to 
every man else a new enjoyment of himself. He is a 
clergyman, a very philosophic man, of general 
learning, great sanctity of life, and the most exact 
good breeding. He has the misfortune to be of a very 
weak constitution, and consequently can not accept 
of such cares and business as preferments in his 
function would oblige him to; he is therefore among 
divines what a chamber counseler is among lawyers. 
The probity of his mind, and the integrity of his life, 
create him followers, as being eloquent or loud 
advances others. He seldom introduces the subject 
he speaks upon; but we are so far gone in years, 
that he observes, when he is among us, an earnest- 



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ness to have him fall on some divine topic, which he 
always treats with much authority, as one who has 
no interest in this world, as one who is hastening to 
the object of all his wishes, and conceives hope from 
his decays and infirmities. These are my ordinary 
companions. 




— 10 — 



SIR ROGER AT HOME 

^Jte*" AVING often received an invitation from my 
■ 1^ friend Sir Roger de Coverley to pass away a 
EMj month with him in the country, I last week 
accompanied him thither, and am settled 
Vvith him for some time at his country house, where 
I intend to form several of my ensuing speculations. 
Sir Roger, who is very well acquainted with my 
humor, lets me rise and go to bed when I please, 
dine at his own table or in my chamber, as I think 
fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me be 
merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to 
see him, he only shows me at a distance. As I have 
been walking in his fields I have observed them 
stealing a sight of me over a hedge, and have heard 
the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for 
that I hated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because 
it consists of sober and staid persons, for as the 
knight is the best master in the world, he seldom 
changes his servants; and as he is beloved by all 
about him, his servants never care for leaving him: 
by this means his domestics are all in years, and 
grown old with their master. You would take his 
valet de chambre for his brother, his butler is gray- 
headed, his groom is one of the gravest men that I 
have ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a 
privy counselor. You see the goodness of the master 
— 11 — 



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even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad that is 
kept in the stable with great care and tenderness out 
of regard to his past services, though he has beea 
useless for several years. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure 
the joy that appeared in the countenances of these 
ancient domestics upon my friend's arrival at his 
country seat. Some of them could not refrain from 
tears at the sight of their old master; every one of 
them pressed forward to do something for him, and 
seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At 
the same time the good old knight, with a mixture 
of the father and the master of the family, tempered 
the inquiries after his own affairs with several kind 
questions relating to themselves. This humanity 
and good nature engages everybody to him, so that 
when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family 
are in good humor, and none so much as the person 
whom he diverts himself with: on the contrary, if he 
cough, or betray any infirmity of old age, it is easy 
for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in the 
looks of all his servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the particular 
care of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, 
as well as the rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully 
desirous of pleasing me, because they have often 
heard their master talk of me as of his particular 
friend 5©. .'^ 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting 
himself in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable 
man who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived at his 
house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. 
This gentleman is a person of good sense and some 
— 12 — 



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learning, of a very regular life, and obliging conversa- 
tion; he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he 
is very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he 
lives in the family rather as a relation than a 
dependent <^<^ se. 

I have observed in several of my papers, that my 
friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is 
something of a humorist; and that his virtues, as 
well as imperfections, are as it were tinged by a 
certain extravagance, which makes them particularly 
his, and distinguishes them from those of other men. 
This cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent in 
itself, so it renders his conversation highly agreeable, 
and more delightful than the same degree of sense 
and virtue would appear in their common and 
ordinary colors. As I was walking with him last 
night, he asked me how I liked the good man whom 
I have just now mentioned, and without staying for 
my answer told me that he was afraid of being 
insulted with Latin and Greek at his own table; for 
which reason he desired a particular friend of his at 
the university to find him out a clergyman rather of 
plain sense than much learning, of a good aspect, a 
clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, a 
man that understood a little of back-gammon. 
" My friend," says Sir Roger, " found me out this 
gentleman, who, besides the endowments required 
of him, is, they tell me, a good scholar, though he 
does not show it. I have given him the parsonage of 
the parish; and, because I know his value, have 
settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he out- 
live me, he shall find that he was higher in my 
esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now 
— 13 — 



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been with me thirty years; and, though he does not 
know I have taken notice of it, has never in all that 
time asked anything of me for himself, though 
he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf 
of one or other of my tenants, his parishioners. 
There has not been a lawsuit in the parish since he 
has lived among them; if any dispute arise they 
apply themselves to him for the decision; if they do 
not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never 
happened above once or twice at most, they appeal 
to me. At his first settling with me, I made him a 
present of all the good sermons which have been 
printed in English, and only begged of him that 
every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the 
pulpit. Accordingly he has digested them into such 
a series, that they follow one another naturally, and 
make a continued system of practical divinity." fl*» 
As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman 
we were talking of came up to us; and upon the 
knight's asking him who preached tomorrow (for 
it was Saturday night) told us the Bishop of Saint 
Asaph in the morning, and Doctor South in the 
afternoon. He then showed us his list of preachers 
for the whole year, where I saw with a good deal of 
pleasure. Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Saunderson, 
Doctor Barrow, Doctor Calamy, mth several living 
authors who have published discourses of practical 
divinity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the 
pulpit, but I very much approved my friend's 
insisting upon the qualification of a good aspect and 
a clear voice; for I was so charmed with the grace- 
fulness of his figure and delivery, as well as with the 
discourses he pronounced, that I think I never 
— 14 — 



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passed any time more to my satisfaction. A sermon 
repeated after this manner is like the composition of 
a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor. 
I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy 
would follow this example; and, instead of wasting 
their spirits in laborious compositions of their own, 
would endeavor after a handsome elocution, and all 
those other talents that are proper to enforce what 
has been penned by greater masters. This would not 
only be more easy to themselves, but more edifying 
to the people. 




15 



SIR ROGER AGAIN IN 
LONDON 

3 WAS this morning surprised with a great 
knocking at the door, when my landlady's 
daughter came up to me and told me that 
there v,as a man below desired to speak with 
me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it 
was a very grave elderly person, but that she did 
not know his name. I immediately went down to 
him, and found him to be the coachman of my 
worthy friend Sir Roger de Coverley. He told me 
that his master came to town last night, and would 
be glad to take a turn with me in Gray's Inn Walks. 
As I was wondering in myself what had brought 
Sir Roger to town, not having lately received any 
letter from him, he told me that his master was come 
up to get a sight of Prince Eugene, and that he 
desired I would immediately meet him. 
1 was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the 
old knight, though I did not much wonder at it, 
having heard him say more than once in private 
discourse that he looked upon Prince Eugenio (for 
''■"^li^Jj" knight always calls him) to be a greater man 
than Scanderbeg. 

I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but I 

heard my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or 

thrice to himself with great vigor, for he loves to 

— 17 — 



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clear his pipes in good air (to make use of his own 
phrase), and is not a little pleased with any one who 
takes notice of the strength which he still exerts in 
his morning hems. 

I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the 
good old man who, before he saw me, was engaged 
in conversation with a beggar man that had asked 
an alms of him. I could hear my friend chide him for 
not finding out some work; but at the same time 
saw him put his hand in his pocket and give him 
sixpence ^^^ ^» 

Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, 
consisting of many kind shakes of the hand, and 
several affectionate looks which we cast upon one 
another. After which the knight told me my good 
friend his chaplain was very well, and much at my 
service, and that the Sunday before he had made a 
most incomparable sermon out of Doctor Barrow. 
" I have left," says he, " all my affairs in his hands, 
and, being willing to lay an obligation upon him, 
have deposited with him thirty marks, to be dis- 
tributed among his poor parishioners." 
He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare 
of Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into 
his fob and presented me in his name with a tobacco 
stopper, telling me that Will had been busy all the 
beginning of the winter, in turning great quantities 
of them; and that he made a present of one to every 
gentleman in the country who has good principles, 
and smokes. He added, that poor Will was at present 
under great tribulation, for that Tom Touchy had 
taken the law of him for cutting some hazel sticks 
out of one of his hedges. 

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Among other pieces of news which the knight 
brought from his country seat, he informed me that 
Moll White was dead, and that about a month 
after her death the wind was so very high that it 
blew down the end of one of his barns. " But for 
my own part," says Sir Roger, " I do not think that 
the old woman had any hand in it," 
He afterwards fell mto an account of the diversions 
which had passed in his house during the holidays, 
for Sir Roger, after the laudable custom of his 
ancestors, always keeps open house at Christmas. 
I learned from him that he had killed eight fat hogs 
for the season, that he had dealt about his chines 
very liberally amongst his neighbors, and that in 
particular he had sent a string of hogs-puddings 
with a pack of cards to every poor family in the 
parish. " I have often thought," says Sir Roger, 
" it happens very well that Christmas should fall 
out in the middle of the winter. It is the most dead 
uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor 
people would suffer very much from their poverty 
and cold, if they had not good-cheer, warm fires, and 
Christmas gambols to support them. I love to 
rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see 
the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a 
double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set 
it a running for twelve days to every one that calls 
for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince 
pie upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased to 
see my tenants pass away a whole evening in play- 
ing their mnocent tricks, and smutting one another. 
Our friend Will Wimble is as merry as any of them, 
and shows a thousand roguish tricks upon these 
— 19 — 



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occasions." I was very much delighted with the 
reflection of my old friend, which carried so much 
goodness in it. He then launched out into the 
praise of the late Act of Parliament for securing 
the Church of England, and told me with great sat- 
isfaction that he believed it already began to take 
effect, for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to 
dine at his house on Christmas day, had been ob- 
served to eat very plentifully of his plum porridge s^ 
After having dispatched all our country matters. 
Sir Roger made several inquiries concerning the 
club, and particularly of his old antagonist Sir 
Andrew Freeport. He asked me with a kind of smile 
whether Sir Andrew had not taken advantage of 
his absence to vent among them some of his repub- 
lican doctrines; but soon after, gathering up his 
countenance into a more than ordinary seriousness, 
" Tell me truly," says he, " don't you think Sir 
Andrew had a hand in the Pope's Procession .-^ " — 
but without giving me time to answer him — " Well, 
well," says he, " I know you are a wary man, and 
do not care to talk of public matters." 
The knight then asked me if I had seen Prince 
Eugenio, and made me promise to get him a stand 
in some convenient place where he might have a 
full sight of that extraordinary man, whose presence 
does so much honor to the British nation. He dwelt 
very long on the praises of this great general, and I 
found that, since I was with him in the country, he 
had drawn many observations together out of his 
reading in Baker's Chronicle, and other authors, 
who always lie in his hall window, which very 
much redound to the honor of this prince. 
— 20 — 



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Having passed away the greatest part of the morn- 
ing in hearing the knight's reflections, which were 
partly private, and partly political, he asked me if I 
would smoke a pipe with him over a dish of coffee at 
Squire's. As I love the old man, I take delight in 
complying with everything that is agreeable to him, 
and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, 
where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of 
the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself at 
the upper end of the high table, but he called for a 
clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a 
wax candle, and the Supplement, with such an air of 
cheerfulness and good-humor, that all the boys in 
the coffee-room (who seemed to take pleasure in 
serving him) were at once employed on his several 
errands, insomuch that nobody else could come at a 
dish of tea till the knight had got all his conveniences 
about him. 




— 21 — 



SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY 

mY friend Sir Roger de Coverley, when we 
last met together at the club, told me that 
he had a great mind to see the new 
tragedy, The Distrest Mother, with me, 
assuring me at the same time that he had not been 
at a play these twenty years. " The last I saw," 
said Sir Roger, " was The Committee, which I 
should not have gone to neither, had not I been told 
beforehand that it was a good Church of England 
comedy." He then proceeded to inquire of me who 
this distrest mother was : and upon hearing that she 
was Hector's widow, he told me that her husband 
was a brave man, and that when he was a schoolboy 
he had read his life at the end of the dictionary. My 
friend asked me in the next place, if there would not 
be some danger in coming home late, in case the 
Mohocks should be abroad. " I assure you," says 
he, "I thought I had fallen into their hands last 
night; for I observed two or three lusty black men 
that followed me half way up Fleet-street, and 
mended their pace behind me, in proportion as I 
put on to get away from them. You must know," 
continued the knight with a smile, " I fancied they 
had a mind to hunt me, for I remember an honest 
gentleman in my neighborhood, who was served 
such a trick in King Charles the Second's time, for 
which reason he has not ventured himself in town 
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ever since. I might have shown them very good 
sport, had this been their design; for, as I am an old 
fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and 
have played them a thousand tricks they had never 
seen in their lives before." Sir Roger added that 
" if these gentlemen had any such intention, they 
did not succeed very well in it; for I threw them out," 
says he, " at the end of Norfolk-street, where I 
doubled the corner, and got shelter in my lodgings 
before they could imagine what was become of me. 
However," says the knight, *' if Captain Sentry will 
make one with us tomorrow night, and you will 
both of you call upon me about four o'clock, that 
we may be at the house before it is full, I will have 
my coach in readiness to attend you, for John tells 
me he has got the fore-wheels mended." 
The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at 
the appointed hour, bid Sir Roger fear nothing, for 
that he had put on the same sword which he made 
use of at the battle of Steenkirk. Sir Roger's ser- 
vants, and among the rest my old friend the butler, 
had, I found, provided themselves with good oaken 
plants, to attend their master upon this occasion. 
WTien we had placed him in his coach, with myself 
at his left hand, the captain before him, and his 
butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we 
convoyed him in safety to the playhouse, where, 
after having marched up the entry in good order, 
the captain and I went in with him, and seated him 
betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house was full, 
and the candles lighted, my old friend stood up, and 
looked about him with that pleasure which a mind 
seasoned with humanity naturally feels in itself at 
— 24 — 



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the sight of a multitude of people who seem pleased 
with one another, and partake of the same common 
entertainment. I could not but fancy to myself, 
as the old man stood up in the middle of the pit, 
that he made a very proper center to a tragic 
audience. Upon the entering of Pyrrhus, the knight 
told me that he did not believe the king of France 
himself had a better strut. I was, indeed, very 
attentive to my old friend's remarks, because I 
looked upon them as a' piece of natural criticism, 
and was well pleased to hear him, at the conclusion 
of almost every scene, telling me that he could not 
imagine how the play would end. One while he 
appeared much concerned for Andromache; and in a 
little while after as much for Hermione, and was 
extremely puzzled to think what would become of 
Pyrrhus s^ &—■ 

When Sir Roger saw Andromache's obstinate 
refusal to her lover's importunities, he whispered 
me in the ear that he was sure she would never have 
him; to which he added, with a more than ordinary 
vehemence, " You can't imagine, sir, what it is to 
have to do with a widow." Upon Pyrrhus's threaten- 
ing afterwards to leave her, the knight shook his 
head and muttered to himself: "Aye, do if you can." 
This part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagina- 
tion that at the close of the third act, as I was 
thinking of something else, he whispered me in my 
ear: " These widows, sir, are the most perverse 
creatures in the world. But pray," says he, " you 
that are a critic, is the play according to your 
dramatic rules, as you call them? Should your people 
in tragedy always talk to be understood.'* Why, 
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there is not a single sentence in this play that I do 
not know the meaning of." 

The fourth act very luckily began before I had time 
to give the old gentleman an answer. " Well," says 
the knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, 
" I suppose we are now to see Hector's ghost." He 
then renewed his attention, and, from time to time 
fell a-praising the widow. He made, indeed, a little 
mistake as to one of her pages, whom at his first 
entering he took for Astyanax, but quickly set 
himself right in that particular though, at the same 
time, he owned he should have been very glad to 
have seen the little boy, who, says he, must needs 
be a very fine child by the account that is given of 
him. Upon Hermione's going off with a menace to 
Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud clap, to which 
Sir Roger added: " On my word, a notable young 
baggage! " 5^ ««» 

As there was a very remarkable silence and stillness 
in the audience during the whole action, it was 
natural for them to take the opportunity of the 
intervals between the acts to express their opinion 
of the players, and of their respective parts. Sir 
Roger, hearing a cluster of them praise Orestes, 
struck in with them, and told them that he thought 
his friend Pylades was a very sensible man. As they 
were afterwards applauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put 
in a second time. "And let me tell you," says he, 
" though he speaks but little, I like the old fellow in 
whiskers as well as any of them." Captain Sentry, 
seeing two or three wags who sat near us lean with 
an attentive ear towards Sir Roger, and fearing lest 
they should smoke the knight, plucked him by the 
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elbow, and whispered something in his ear, that 
lasted till the opening of the fifth act. The knight 
was wonderfully attentive to the account which 
Orestes gives of Pyrrhus's death, and at the con- 
clusion of it told me it was such a bloody piece of 
work that he was glad it was not done upon the 
stage. Seeing afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, 
he grew more than ordinarily serious, and took 
occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an evil 
conscience, adding that Orestes, in his madness, 
looked as if he saw something. 
As we were the first that came into the house, so we 
were the last that went out of it, being resolved to 
have a clear passage for our old friend, whom we 
did not care to venture among the justling of the 
crowd. Sir Roger went out fully satisfied with his 
entertainment, and we guarded him to his lodgmg 
in the same manner that we brought him to the 
playhouse, being highly pleased for my own part, 
not only with the performance of the excellent piece 
which had been presented, but with the satisfaction 
which it had given to the old man . 




27 



DEATH OF SIR ROGER 

(With the punctuation, spelling, and capitalization 
of the original Spectator.) 



m 



E last Night received a Piece of ill News 
at our Club which very sensibly afflicted 
every one of us. I question not but my 
Readers themselves will be troubled at 
the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in Suspense, 
Sir Roger de Coverlet is dead. He departed this 
Life at his House in the Country after a few Weeks 
Sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a Letter from 
one of his Correspondents in those Parts, that 
informs him the old Man caught a Cold at the 
County Sessions, as he was very warmly promoting 
an Address of his own penning, in which he suc- 
ceeded according to his Wishes. But this Particular 
comes from a Whig-Justice of Peace, who was always 
Sir Roger's Enemy and Antagonist. I have Letters 
both from the Chaplain and Captain Sentry which 
mention nothing of it, but are filled with many 
Particulars to the Honour of the good old Man. I 
have likewise a Letter from the Butler, who took 
so much Care of me last Summer when I was at the 
Knight's House. As my Friend the Butler mentions, 
in the Simplicity of his Heart, several Circumstances 
the others have passed over in Silence, I shall give 
my Reader a Copy of his Letter without any Altera- 
tion or Diminution: — 

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Honoured Sir: — 

Knowing that you was my old Master's good 
Friend, I could not forbear sending you the melan- 
choly News of his Death, which has afflicted the 
whole Country, as well as his poor Servants, who 
loved him, I may say, better than we did our Lives. 
I am afraid he caught his Death at the last County 
Sessions, where he would go to see Justice done to a 
poor Widow Woman, and her Fatherless Children, 
that had been wronged by a neighbouring Gentle- 
man; for you know. Sir, my good Master was 
always the poor Man's Friend. Upon his coming 
home, the first Complaint he made was, that he had 
lost his Roast-Beef Stomach, not being able to 
touch a Sirloin, which was served up according to 
Custom; and you know he used to take great Delight 
in it. From that time forward he grew worse and 
worse, but still kept a good Heart to the last. 
Indeed, we were once in great Hope of his Recovery, 
upon a kind Message that was sent him from the 
Widow Lady whom he had made love to the Forty 
last Years of his Life; but this only proved a 
Light'ning before Death. He has bequeathed to this 
Lady, as a token of his Love, a great Pearl Necklace, 
and a Couple of Silver Bracelets set with Jewels, 
which belonged to my good old Lady his Mother; 
He has bequeathed the fine white Gelding, that he 
used to ride a hunting upon, to his Chaplain, 
because he thought he would be kind to him, and 
has left you all his Books. He has, moreover, 
bequeathed to the Chaplain a very pretty Tene- 
ment with good Lands about it. It being a very cold 
Day when he made his Will, he left for Mourning, to 
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every Man in the Parish, a great Frize-Coat, and 
to every Woman a black Riding-hood. It was a 
most moving Sight to see him take leave of his poor 
Servants, commending us all for our Fidelity, whilst 
we were not able to speak a Word for weeping. As 
we most of us are grown Gray-headed in our Dear 
Master's Service, he has left us Pensions and 
Legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon, 
the remaining part of our Days. He has bequeath'd 
a great deal more in Charity, which is not yet come 
to my Knowledge, and it is peremptorily said in the 
Parish, that he has left Money to build a Steeple to 
the Church; for he was heard to say some time ago, 
that if he lived two Years longer, Coverly Church 
should have a Steeple to it. The Chaplain tells every 
body that he made a very good End, and never 
speaks of him without Tears. He was buried, 
according to his own Directions, among the Family 
of the Coverly s, on the Left Hand of his father Sir 
Arthur. The Coffin was carried by Six of his Tenants, 
and the Pall held up by Six of the Quorum: The 
whole Parish follow' d the Corps with heavy Hearts, 
and in their Mourning Suits, the Men in Prize, and 
the Women in Riding-Hoods. Captain Sentry, my 
Master's Nephew, has taken Possession of the Hall- 
House and the whole Estate. 

When my old Master saw him a little before his 
Death, he shook him by the Hand, and wished him 
Joy of the Estate which was falling to him, desiring 
him only to make good Use of it, and to pay the 
several Legacies, and the Gifts of Charity which he 
told him he had left as Quitrents upon the Estate. 
The Captain truly seems a courteous Man, though 
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he says but little. He makes much of those whom my 
Master loved, and shows great Kindness to the old 
House-dog, that you know my poor Master was so 
fond of. It would have gone to your Heart to have 
heard the Moans the dumb Creature made on the 
Day of my Master's Death. He has ne'er joyed 
himself since; no more has any of us. 'Twas the 
melancholiest Day for the poor People that ever 
happened in Worcestershire. This being all from. 
Honoured Sir, 

Your most Sorrowful Servant, 

Edward Biscuit. 

P.S. My Master desired, some Weeks before he 

died, that a Book which comes up to you by the 

Carrier should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport, in 

his Name. 

This Letter, notwithstanding the poor Butler's 
Manner of writing it, gave us such an Idea of our 
good old Friend, that upon the reading of it there 
was not a dry Eye in the Club. Sir Andrew opening 
the Book, found it to be a Collection of Acts of 
Parliament. There was in particular the Act of 
Uniformity, with some Passages in it marked by 
Sir Roger s own Hand. Sir Andrew found that they 
related to two or three Points, which he had dis- 
puted with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the 
Club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at 
such an Incident on another Occasion, at the sight 
of the old Man's Hand-writing burst into Tears, 
and put the Book into his Pocket. Captain Sentry 
informs me, that the Knight has left Rings and 
Mourning for every one in the Club. 
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n 



g-0^^ 157 170 9 




